


Chapel

by varethei



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Mild Blood, Other, its ouma tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 14:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14427330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varethei/pseuds/varethei
Summary: A quick little drabble I did! I didn't see a lot of pregame Kaito stuff in the tags, and since pregame Kaito is a big vice of mine, I thought I'd add my own addition to the small, but hopefully, growing list of pregame fics. Note** I headcanon pregame Kaito as a violent, rough, individual, as opposed to his ingame counterpart. I guess you can say he's a bit of a delinquent. Also sorry if Ouma seems a tad underdeveloped, I need to get better at writing other characters.





	Chapel

He crushes the can of Asashi with a painful noise against the dirt. Kaito appears sleepless, jaundiced and lethargic. His gakuran lays wrinkled at his side, showing off the developed muscles underneath his sun-kissed arms as he twiddles with a blade of grass between the calloused tips of his fingers. “Don’t wanna go back t’class.” Momota mumbles attentively into dismal nothingness. He’s positive Ouma is listening, but of course, it’s a curse to be too sure. After all, no one wants to hear what you gotta say,unless,they can reap some benefits. People are selfish. Cruel. Power-hungry. Brute force, though, it’ll put someone in their place. Kaito stares at his knuckles, bringing them to his lips and blowing on them. As the former captain of his school’s boxing league, he’s familiar with the vigor of beastly authority. 

There’s a small groove of cypress trees that lead to a pothole grown path behind the cold brick building of Dodonpachi Commercial High. If you’ve got the school grounds mapped out in your head, it’s easy to manoeuvre around the the back of the antiquated structure without so much as batting an eye. Luckily for him, Kaito had a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes on himself and a well-versed habit of ditching class undetected. In his final year of schooling, he couldn’t be arsed to sit through another half-assed lecture on simple harmonic motion. As far as he was concerned, greater prospects held his interests in the form of bloody knuckles and a knack for murder. DanganRonpa was but a bite away; the sweet, delicious, core of a life worth-living. 

And Ouma. Well, he was like reaching into a surprise bag blindfolded. You didn’t know whether you would survive the endeavor empty-handed,pleased, or simply appalled. Currently, Kaito was feeling the latter. How he managed to convince the kid to skip class was beyond him. Guess it was just one of the prospects of being a successful leader. 

Then again, ever since the two of them had grown closer: the unlikeliest of odd couples, Ouma had been eager to take on change. Almost, as if he were starved for a reputation other than the one which currently strapped ten pounds worth of nonsensical literature to his back. A paperweight. He could spend his days annotating science journals, or, he could learn to smoke cigarettes by the tenfold and hang out with the guy who got caught stealing from the local Family Mart. Plus, Myoonsawa wasn’t a bad place to spend a Saturday. It sure as fuck beat the clammy entrails of a classroom;the heat so unbearable, the student body filled the air with a scent akin to bloated corpses. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol in him speaking. The low grumble of a voice in his head that hungers for something bloodthirsty and vain. There’s a warm feeling settled between his ribs, urging Kaito to act like a feral dog on his discrimination between wrong from right. Of lust and virtue. “ Hey, I wanna try somethin’. C’mere.” He commands with a swift motion of his hand. Ouma doesn’t seem to question his ring leader, following suit like an obedient pup as Momota stands to his feet and leads them towards a murky river, the grey waters licking the heads of rocks in a turbulent motion. “ Gimme yer palm.” Kaito demands, holding a large palm out in offering. A lithe, pale, hand lands angel-soft in his own, fingers spread to reveal the spaces in between. 

“ Perfect.”

He snickers to himself, baring those white teeth of his in a keening display of confidence. A near-silent click fills the air ; he can sense how Ouma falters. He knows that sound with the familiarity of the back of his palm. “ Jus’ relax.” That cocky tone of Kaito’s is more mocking than comforting but it keeps the other boy on stand-by. Timing is precious, he always tells himself, withdrawing the now revealed blade from the back pocket of his charcoal trousers. It’s a Microtech Drop Point with a satin finish. A real masterpiece. He licks his lips, and with one precise motion, slices with the ease of cutting paper through Ouma’s palm and watching his flesh parts like petals. 

Almost immediately, the boy winces, letting out a low groan of pain as he quickly withdraws his hand from Kaito’s loosened grip, tears welling in amethyst hues as he stares Kaito down with a pained expression. “ I said. Relax.” Momota repeats. “ It’s a blood pact.” He wipes the silver blade off on his shirt, staining the crimson fabric with Ouma’s blood; his vitriol and plasma. Neither a flinch nor a cringe, he nips the blade against his own flesh, moving his wrist back to create a meaningful incision at the base of his palm.

Pressing their cruor infested palms together, their combined blood drips into the unknowns of the river bed. 

“ Don’t think a’ betrayin’ me now.”


End file.
